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Finding New Strength -
Rich or Poor, Women too often Overlook
the Power of Sisterhood
An article from the Spokesman Review - Perspectives
Sunday, November 10, 2003
by Jan Martinez
Sunday, November 10, 2003
by Jan Martinez
My friend's look of incredulity made me pause. "You feel more real?" she repeated, as if my answer to her question about why I loved my work at Christ Kitchen was imcomprehensible. "It's like finally finding where I fit" I explained, "like being home", I said, attempting to raise her furrowed brow.
This conversation began with my friend's lament over the fact that I'd closed my private therapy practice to devote full effort to Christ Kitchen, a job-training project for women living in poverty in the West Central neighborhood. She'd coaxed me into explaining this career change by the off-hand remark that she couldn't believe I would give up a profession to "simply volunteer to put beans in a bag".
You see, at Christ Kitchen we hire homeless women and those in various life transitions to make and sell dried food mixes: like bean soups, cornbread, cookies and tea. We have purposely created a nurturing, supportive, non-technical work environment meant to encourage friendship, networking, and community among women on the fringes of society. Drawn by the incentive of day-labor, the women who find their way to Christ Kitchen's door are unseen, isolated, and poor, attempting to work again after raising kids or Cain, after husbands have left, after illness, age, abuse, addiction or injury. "Do they every move on?" my friend asked doubtfully, seeking proof that this new endeavor was worth my trouble or at least worth hers.
I understand my friend's skepticism. Over the past five years, I've had to reevaluate or relinquish assumptions I've had about poverty, opinions on class and gender, and understandings of how they apply to the Kitchen. I've questioned my middle-class values, probed tightly held theories, discovered my own biases, and grieved my insulated, limited experience. What I never expected to find on my journey, however, were heroines in the guise of the homeless, mentors clad in second-hand clothes, teachers among the disabled. The courage and resiliency of the women who come to Christ Kitchen inspires me. I am humbled by their honesty, and challenged by their simple, sweet acceptance of me. Thoughts of a return to the hustle of client billing and the bustle of managed care have long departed. I am a part of a thriving, healing community that ironically nurtures me more than I thought possible and offers more than I could possibly give in return.
This, I think, is what threw my friend. If I had said merely that I volunteered somewhere, or that I was doing service work, or even missionary work, I think she would have understood, approved, maybe even applauded. But hearing about my discovery of life-changing friendships, acceptance, and a sense of family outside the imaginary bounds of class, education and opportunity seemed threatening to her, almost dangerous. "Come back!" I imagine her pleading, "I hear it's a bad neighborhood and I don't want to go there with you!"
What provides hope for both my friend and me as we cross this urban wilderness is that we're in good company. Back in Jesus' day, his twelve baffled disciples gasped when he broke social traditions, shook when he spoke Truth to power, worried when his words offended, cried out when he rocked the boat. Try as they might to steer him away from sinful women, innocent children, demon-possessed lunatics, crowds of hungry people, they could not divert his purposely directed healing and teaching to just such outcasts and misfits. Jesus just liked to hang in "bad neighborhoods", reminding those in power, his disciples, and ultimately my friend, that his mission is to the sick, the sinner, the outsider - not the healthy or the righteous. He's flipped hierarchical order on its head with teachings like, "Blessed are the meek", or "The first will be last and the last will be first" - lessons that prove many of the cultural ideas we so tenaciously hang on to are flawed.
This is where my friend and I must pay attention. Take social-class distinctions, for example. My friend and I can talk about poverty, its causes and sequela, as well as about equal opportunity, choice, and political ideology in America today. Broach the topic of class differences, however, and we are broaching taboo. This occurred to me the day I told my friend that a critical difference between my life and that of many of the women at the Kitchen is simply that I happen to have married a dependable man and that, as of yet, no rugs have been pulled out from under us.
The women I work with had the identical dreams that I and my friends had as we grew up. We all wanted a good life, a loving spouse, a happy family. The women of the Kitchen, on whole, wanted to stay home with their kids and have meaningful work. I'd been educated, pursued a career, and even been the major wage earner at my house for a time — all by the good fortunes of my family and marriage. But once the choice is made to stay home with babies, take care of sick relatives, or just be around when the kids get home, the playing field between classes of women gets leveled. The stability, position and abilities of the husband dictate security and socioeconomic status. A tragedy, lost job, illness, or sick kid can put anyone on the edge, regardless of rank. This seems harder to understand the less one has suffered. Try bringing this up in any alpha-female pack and see if you don't get put in the attic with crazy Aunt Bertha. Out of sight, she might not disgrace us, or remind us of our insecurities, dependence or fears, but sometimes she states the truth. Many of the circles I run in don't even want her peeking out from behind those dirty drapes.
Women have struggled with these issues for centuries. Being judged inferior to men in virtually every society throughout history, our tendency, sadly, has been to pass on oppression to our sisters, rather than rally against the systems that promote it. An example of this is found in the story of Sarah and Hagar in the Bible. Both women independently suffered injustice and exploitation. Sarah suffered the humiliation of infertility, as well as the injustice of being given to other men by her husband, Abraham, to safeguard his life. Hagar endured life as Sarah's Egyptian slave. Sarah's solution to her shame of barrenness and to the delay of God's promised heir was to have Abraham sleep with Hagar, forcing her maid into surrogate motherhood. Hagar, gaining some control by conceiving Abraham's child, turned her contempt towards Sarah. Rather than become allies, these women snatched at morsels of power and used them against each other. How would it have been if our foremothers could have overcome the tyranny of their situations, caring deeply for the welfare of the other, finding cooperative solutions rather than playing out the drama that still visits us today in the Middle East?
Thankfully, there are two other women in Scripture who prove this is possible. In an obscure little verse in the eighth chapter of Luke, some women are described who supported Jesus' ministry with their own money and traveled with him and his disciples. We are told that all of the women had been healed by Jesus — some cured of evil spirits, some of diseases. One of the women, Mary Magdelene, from whom seven demons had come out, is presumed to have been a prostitute. The other, Joanna, is from the "other side" of town. Joanna was the wife of Cuza, the manager of Herod's household. Herod, you'll remember, was the charming king who chopped off John the Baptist's head to present on a platter to his new wife who was ticked at John's indictment of her incestuous infidelity. Cuza, being Herod's main man, may have done the chopping or carried the platter."
From a purely cultural, without-Jesus-point-of-view, it seems unlikely that one of the most affluent, connected women of the day would be consorting with the likes of Mary. But Jesus modeled acceptance of all women and of relationships that bridged the artificial barriers of class, color, and creed. What Mary and Joanna had in common was that they'd both been healed and were new creations. When the men betrayed him, denied him and fell asleep in the Garden, these women stood by the cross, kept vigil through the night, brought spices at dawn, watched, waited, wept. They shared a deep intimacy and passion for their Lord, enabling them to form a healing community within which they could suffer, learn and grow together.
This is my hope for the community of women at Christ Kitchen, for every Mary and any Joanna who venture through our doors: that the broken and brokenhearted would find wholeness and Truth, surrounded by the gifts, talents and resources of their sisters, through the love of Christ.
